All happy families are alike
by sexyvanillatiger
Summary: Stiles finds himself pregnant with Derek's child. Slash. Mpreg. Sterek.
1. All happy families are alike

Stiles is a smartass.

And so is Erica.

So after a few weeks of the flu and the mood swings and the constant trips to the bathroom and a little bit more impulse eating than usual, when she gives him a pregnancy test —

He takes it.

Much to the dismay of Scott and Lydia, who are present as he taps it against his thigh and talks aimlessly, waiting for his answer. They make faces at it and he shrugs; he doesn't care that he just peed on it. He doesn't care that his hormones are slowly fermenting a response in this meaningless experiment. He skids one errant nail against the plastic of the stick before twisting the answer into view. His current sentence slowing to a jog before stopping completely.

He shakes his head, laughing a little bit. Shakes the test. Sits up and runs his hand over his face, laughing harder. Scott gives him the wildest look before reaching for the test, and Stiles hands it to him. His friend looks mildly concerned for a moment before forcing a choked laugh. Clears his throat, passes it to Lydia.

"Oh my god. You're pregnant."

Stiles just laughs, doubling over with the force of it. Scott smiles and leans back against the sink. Lydia looks appalled that life could play any sort of joke on them. Stiles rises to his feet, takes the test from her and hides it at the bottom of the trash can.

It is a pinch of bad timing. Maybe that's what makes it funny. Stiles lost his virginity to the most unlikely candidate a few weeks ago, said taker not having engaged in direct communication with the bulk of the pack recently; especially not him. Stiles can't find it in himself to be offended. He is, though, ashamed to be grateful.

So it's not just uncanny, but also at a point where a little bit of humor goes a long way and when Scott's shoulders finally relax, the weight of the world crashes like water from the shower head down the drain. The night passes; Stiles' friends leave.

He taps at his keyboard and learns that positives on pregnancy tests have been found to diagnose certain male cancers. He sits up until the first spokes of sun spill over the horizon and calls his family doctor to make an appointment.

* * *

"To be honest," the doctor begins, looking tentatively at his clipboard, "we're not quite sure what it is."

Stiles leans forward, hands rigid around the edge of the table. "So it could be nothing?"

The man makes a noncommittal noise and sits down in his chair. He clears his throat, looks up at Stiles and then back down at his papers. Shuffles through them. Sets them aside. "Not quite. There's further testing that we'll need to do. It's—there. We just don't know what it is. Right now."

With a hard exhale, Stiles leans back and locks his jaw. There's not much he can say. All he knows is that something is wrong with him.

* * *

Derek is exceptionally good at not getting kicked off of campus for how often he shows up uninvited and unwelcome. Not that he'd bothered using these skills for the past few weeks. Stiles almost startles upon seeing him. Scott makes a grab at his shoulder, finally grasping some of the sleeve of his hoodie in a limp grip.

Instead of looking at Stiles, Derek turns to Scott when he asks "What's that smell?" And it hurts, because Stiles knows exactly what Derek is talking about, except he has no idea what it is yet. He puffs up, ready to interject when Scott answers.

"We don't know." Derek's look darkens, and something in Stiles is hopeful. It does not, however, override the petulance.

"What is this? You can't just show up out of nowhere after all this time and get pissed that things change sometimes."

Scott nods a placating nod. "He's been smelling like this for awhile…"

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long." Derek's voice has risen and Stiles is shoving him away from the openness of the parking lot and into the shadows of a brick wall. Scott follows, looking prepared to take the claws that Derek looks about ready to put in Stiles' head.

"It's been a few weeks."

"We have to get to Deaton."

* * *

Stiles expects Scott to be there when they go. He's a little bit dampened when he shows up on the clinic's front steps to find Derek alone waiting for him; without any light he's hard to see at first, but after a still, quiet moment, Stiles can make out almost every detail. Deaton opens the door for them as soon as he's at the sourwolf's side, without even a chance to poke some sardonic fun at his grumpy expression, and they're ushered in.

"Derek tells me that your scent has changed."

"Look, I don't feel comfortable discussing this with him in the room." His head swings between Derek and Deaton, waiting for one of them to make a distance large enough for the oncoming conversation.

"Why not?" Stiles (more than a little awestruck) turns back to Deaton, who with a challenging tone seems to know what arose between them. What he doesn't know, and what churns a little distaste in Stiles' stomach, is that it was never a thing rooted in trust. Derek never gave Stiles any more faith than he did a chance to pull himself together before kicking him out of the bed.

"Because it's not his business."

"It is my business—" Derek looks about ready to lunge before Deaton claps a hand down onto the examination table.

"We can't be sure yet."

Silence settles low and heavy in the room and it wears down the thin veil Stiles had over his head coming into this. "Wait—you guys already know what's wrong with me?"

"No," Deaton is quick to respond but

"Yes," Derek is quick to interject, looking at the vet like he's lost his mind for even assuming that he could understand this. "I would never miss that smell."

"I went to the doctor."

The arguing ceases immediately as both men spin to face him. His balance stutters and he staggers back a step. "Something's wrong. They don't know what, but…there's some sort of…chemical imbalance," and he spits the words out like his first taste of chewing tobacco, "but they don't know what's causing it."

Derek turns to Deaton once more, eyes wide and lips thin under the pressure of his countenance. He swings his hand out, gesturing crudely towards Stiles; it's a there, you see? kind of look, and he isn't sure how to feel about it. Deaton looks defeated, as if he knew the whole time this is how it would happen. It appears that he has bad news, but Stiles can't tell who it's for.

"I'm going to have to ask you to come back and see me in a few weeks. Derek will come with you." Deaton clears his throat, takes a deep breath and looks Stiles in the eye. It feels nothing like the spineless doctor. He braces himself for the worst. "We believe that you're pregnant."

It takes a moment. Stiles sputters a little bit, and then laughs. Derek rests his face in his hand. Deaton smiles, but he looks serious. The fact is, Stiles doesn't doubt him. But he's not sure which he would have preferred—this, or cancer.


	2. Lines of battle

"This…_can't_ be happening. I mean literally. It's not possible. Not even male _actual wolves_ can get pregnant. It's not even possible."

"Neither were werewolves." Stiles flings a glower in Scott's direction, who shrugs his shoulders up and smiles a little. "I'm just saying. A lot of things are possible now that were never possible before."

"You know what, that's easy for you to say. You're not the one having puppies."

* * *

It was so easy to believe at first; why is it so hard now? Stiles stares into his bathroom mirror, interrogating his flat stomach. There's no way something is living inside of him. He swallows thickly, feeling sick, and goes through the ritual of repetitively crossing and uncrossing his arms over himself. Is this what most teenage mothers feel like?

No. Can't be. Most teenage mothers go into it knowing that it could have happened. Even on the first time. Stiles isn't ignorant; he knows that pregnancy isn't courteous and frequently settles in as soon as it fits, but he never thought he would be so unlucky. He folds his arms on the counter and drops his head down onto them.

Doesn't know what he's supposed to do. He should have had bigger things to worry about. But now he's _pregnant_. What is he going to do when he gets big? What's he going to do with the kid? It was a one-time thing. Derek had made it clear that it was a breach in character; never supposed to happen. Now he's having the guy's kid.

What had he done to deserve this?

* * *

Ms. McCall is probably not ready to handle this. She's not exactly fond of the werewolf scene, and if she knew Derek Hale, she'd probably be less inclined to help, but Scott and Stiles have talked it over, and they don't know who else to turn to.

"She isn't even in obstetrics," Stiles moans, pulling Scott back by the elbow at the last second. She's in the kitchen and they're just down the hall and he isn't ready for anyone else to know. He lets go of his friend and settles back against the wall, dragging his hands down his face. Scott comes forward and puts his hands on Stiles' shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay."

* * *

So actually, it isn't. She took it well enough; skeptical, but wide open to the possibilities. That doesn't make the situation any more safe or any less real. She sat them down and explained every fallacy in Stiles' pregnancy, called Deaton, and then put a few more complications on the list. Stiles isn't going home tonight. He's staying in Scott's room, riding out the panic attacks with an unwavering grip on his friend's hand.

She stands in the doorway, watching him calm down and raise his head from in-between his knees. "Stiles," she starts quietly. Takes two steps into the room and tells him that he will be more than welcome to stay with her in the later months of his pregnancy. The word comes out like the first bitter taste of morning coffee that she hasn't adjusted to yet, and the sound of it yanks a muffled sob from his throat. Scott thanks her for Stiles and she nods, quickly leaving the boys to their solitude.

It's not that he appreciates that she's gone, he just doesn't want anyone to see him this way. His father and Scott are the only ones who don't make it worse. He tightens his lips and looks up at his friend.

"What am I gonna do?"

His voice is in the process of breaking and the question barely comes out. Scott just shrugs, nodding absently because there are no answers. He sits down on the floor in front of Stiles, looking like he's got some bad news.

"We should probably talk to Derek."

* * *

"Is there anything we can do to just…_fix_ this before…it gets any worse?" he asks Deaton quietly while he and Scott wait for Derek to show up. Deaton's face twists unhappily but he turns to a locked cabinet.

He's in the process of pulling something down when Derek comes in, quieter than normal, quiet enough to surprise everyone when he says, firmly, "_No_." Looks at Stiles after he says it and repeats himself. "No. You can't…please, don't do that."

Stiles fumes for a second, but he's too tired to hold up anger. "Why not? You can't tell me what to do. It's my body." His words are listless, but Derek inhales them like a stimulant and begins to shift right there amongst the three of them.

His words are surprisingly soft for the growling tone and fangs they are filtered through. "I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, I'll do anything you want. And I'll take the kid when it's born, please. Don't do that." He's crowding Stiles' space but it's not menacing.

It's desperate.

"Dude, you don't even understand. How am I gonna go to school? What am I gonna tell my dad?" He swallows, staring into Derek's eyes in silence for a moment. It's somewhat nostalgic to him, this view. "What if this thing kills me? It's not like it would be super hard. I'm physically not made for something like—"

"_Stiles_," Derek roars so that it's hard to make out his name amongst the noise, "I will do _anything_ to keep you safe. Do you understand me? Do not. Do this." He slides a glare at Deaton, who sets the strip of willow bark to the side. The vet glances at Stiles, whose gaze is still fixed on Derek.

His lip is trembling but he isn't sure if he has the energy to let out any real emotion right now. His voice wavers like he could cry, but he doesn't feel it; just keeps on talking. "We're going to have to talk about this."

"I know." Derek softens, arm raising and Stiles thinks maybe those hardened hands will take his face and hold him safe against the rest of the world. They pass him and Derek leans against the wall, caging him in. "I know this is my fault," he murmurs, quiet enough so that only Scott will be able to hear this outside of the world Derek has created around them. "You're my responsibility now. I'm going to take care of you. Nothing bad will happen. Just, please. Keep my child."

Stiles is breathless. Derek's face hasn't been this close to his in awhile and he nods before he can even consider whether or not he truly agrees. It's Scott moving around uncomfortably beyond Derek's intent gaze that pulls him back into the storage room of the animal clinic. "Okay," he croaks out, ducking his head and curling himself into the corner of the box Derek has created with his body. "Fine."

_Scott and I will do whatever we can to help you get through this,_ Deaton says somewhere in the background where Stiles can't hear him. Everything around him is Derek, and it almost feels for a moment like everything could have worked for them.


	3. Overanalyze

The thing was that Stiles didn't really expect to see Derek any more often than he already did. He's not supposed to be in the driveway when Stiles is going to school.

"This isn't really a good time for that talk. You know it's a Thursday, right?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing."

It's a resigned sort of caring that Stiles is sure is being suppressed in the conventional Derek way. It warms Stiles inside but he's not ready for this. "Yeah, well you've done a good job of that the past few weeks. Keep up the good work."

Derek's scowl deepens and Stiles almost feels sorry that the mother of the guy's child isn't someone he likes more, but he's equally as offended by it, so he answers with a mocking look. Yanks open the door to his Jeep and hops in. Derek stands between him and closing it. He leans forward, allowing a soft kiss to be loved to his lips.

When he looks up, he sees atonement in Derek's eyes. His gaze travels across the rocky terrain of the man's face. "Whatever you've been doing since it _happened_, it's not okay."

"I know."

Stiles has seen the man look serious, but not like this, so he accepts that some things can't be changed and the recent past is one of them. He closes the door, backs out of the driveway and drifts through the day on autopilot.

* * *

_God, you smell so good_, he had said, holding Stiles' collar in his hands. Holding Stiles close to him, face pressed into his neck, and Stiles had been helpless to the feeling. _Please_, he'd responded desperately with his fingers bared in the man's back, and it would sicken him to think of it later.

It was never something he'd seen coming, which is a little startling now that he looks back on it. What he really doesn't understand is why nobody intervened when there was still time. Who had been so blind as to let this thing between them take root and not even have the consideration to weed them? Where had their friends been during this?

Maybe it was being all alone together that sowed the seeds in the first place.

* * *

"_I'm trying to help you!_"

"Well god_damnit_, Derek, why don't you just _take control of the entire universe_ while you're at it! Maybe then _every fucking thing_ will be exactly the way _you_ want it!"

"What _I want_? What I _fucking want_? _I want a fucking family, Stiles! I want you to be fucking safe!_"

"_The guy was going twenty. Miles. Per. Hour!_"

Scott bursts through the front door hard enough to knock it down. It unsettles a cloud of dust that scatters around his ankles as he tries to put his wolf away, but quelling his annoyance is getting more and more difficult the louder the two get.

"It doesn't matter! You got _hit_!"

"Derek!" Both heads snap to attention, glaring down the unreliable expanse of the stairs. The squeaking bannister sounds tortured under Derek's grip and Stiles may or may not have knocked a floorboard out of place. Why they're having a safety argument on the second floor of this rotted shipwreck is beyond Scott. "Stiles! What the hell is going on?"

Stiles wishes he knew. When he looks back at Derek, he thinks about how amazing his day was because of the morning's kiss, and now what? Derek looks feral. It's ugly, and Stiles is rolling in it, fighting with everything in him, not excluding a little bit of vindictiveness. Maybe he's not over everything between them yet.

"I got bumped in the parking lot."

"Yeah, I know. So?" Derek glares at Scott like he has something to say, but he doesn't do anything other than step menacingly to the stairs. Scott shrugs and continues. "He's fine. You know he's fine."

There's a moment of _it's not the action, it's the thought_ that passes through the house. Stiles has the humility to look ashamed and Derek's cold glower gives way to the molten sincerity below. Scott has the gall to look satisfied.

* * *

It's not much later that night, but it's late enough that Stiles cringes at the sound of his cell phone vibrating. You know, because it's probably his dad, because he possibly, maybe forgot to mention that he wouldn't be coming straight home after school and he potentially hasn't been outrageously out of line recently, so the empty house his father may or may not have just walked into may or may not be all the more surprising.

Derek's lips are still attached to his neck when he fumbles to answer it.

"Stiles? Where are you, son? It's six."

"I know, dad, I'm sorry. I'm at Scott's. School thing. I forgot to mention it. Sorry." He speaks in short bursts because Derek's claws are coming out into the twisting angles of his waist. Something about Stiles being on the phone must be very provocative because Derek's hips were not doing that just a minute ago.

"Are you sure you're at Scott's and not out somewhere getting into trouble?" Stiles forgot how his gut would always sink whenever his dad talks like that, but necessary evils, so.

"Yes, dad, I'm sure. You can call Ms. McCall for verification."

Even Derek looks up at that. Stiles is tense from his squinted eyes down to his curled toes in hopes that the bluff will go through. After a long, held breath, his father gives him the benefit of the doubt.

"Alright. Text me when you're on your way home so I can unlock the door."

"Will do, Da-_ad_," he moans, gripping his phone tight enough for it to squeak its tiny protest into his nearby ear.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, love you dad, see you when I get home," he rushes and hangs up and shuts the thing off and tosses it into the nearby clothes pile. "You," he begins, grabbing Derek's face (which is risky because this is the second time they've done this and that is definitely irritation he's seeing in Derek's frown, but), "need to never do that again."

Derek thrusts his nose into the crook of Stiles' jaw. "You smell so good when you get anxious."

"You know, I don't think that's a compliment." His breath heaves in the moment that Derek's hands find his waistband. "Is that why you always throw me into things?"

"I have other reasons, too."

Derek is balls deep and three minutes and twenty-eight seconds from finishing when Stiles says, "You know, I kinda like married sex."

* * *

So it becomes their running joke.

Not just the married sex, but the married in general. It's not like they weren't in on the joke when it was everyone else's thing, but now everyone else knows that they're having a child together, and more than that (maybe because of that), Stiles and Derek have finally found a reason to find it funny.

One day Derek swings by the school to pick Stiles up for the hell of it, and he makes a show of kissing him on the cheek. It's half joke half genuine so Stiles makes a show of pushing him away and dramatically wiping his face clean. Everyone laughs.

Later that afternoon, Derek has Stiles on his hands and knees, hair clenched in Derek's fist. He loves it.

Later that evening, Derek mentions their child. It's not his best move. Stiles immediately folds his arms over his chest and looks up from his textbook. It was a passing reference, hardly enough to make mention of. Hardly a mention at all. Maybe it was supposed to be amicable.

Derek is immediately on alert. "What."

"Nothing. Just, you know. Doin' some homework."

"No, Stiles. Talk to me. We're in this together, you have to trust me."

"I just. I don't know. I mean, yeah. We're in this together. Nine whole months. Well, less now." He uncrosses his arms, then recrosses them. "It's still really weird. I don't know. I figured I'd have it, for you. And then, I don't know." The whole married joke falls like shattered glass.

Derek fumes. His eyes flash and he stands, briskly walking away. Stiles sits there, wallowing in the cold wake of his abandonment. He packs his things up, remembering the taste of Derek on his lips the entire walk home.


	4. Palace Malice

Sheriff Stilinski isn't home when Chris Argent drops in for a visit. Stiles broke into the liquor cabinet hours ago, and his eyes are rimmed red and he leans against the doorframe on one arm like nothing's wrong. Chris doesn't buy it for two reasons: he's not blind. He's not stupid. And a third reason, relatively unattached, he's not deaf. Relatively because it's the reason he _knows_.

"Is your father home?"

"As if you don't know," Stiles sighs (the smell of alcohol dances on that breath); forcefully pushes himself away from the frame and turns on his heel (a little bit too hard on the left side, swinging and catching himself before Chris can stumble forward to right him). Stiles stiffens, Chris looks up, and there Derek is, claws out, teeth bared and eyes red and staring right at him. Like the German Shepherd Stiles needs.

"I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk."

There's a lot between them right now, mostly the general thickness of _talking has always worked so well between the divide, hasn't it?_ but Chris has important fish to fry. He's lost his sister and his father in the name of innocent people, and he's not about to allow a young man to die after it all. Especially not one soon to be a _mother_.

"I heard from Allison about your…situation."

"She told you?" Stiles whirls around, residue from the glare he must have been giving Derek fading into a shocked sort of mortification.

"Well…"

"_Jesus_, does _everybody_ know?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," Stiles mutters, leading the way into the kitchen and hopping up onto a counter, "it's kind of embarrassing."

Derek, leaning against the fridge, growls unhappily. It doesn't take a mastermind to realize that they're having problems. But that's not Chris' concern. He'd rather they both stay alive to have problems. "I'm not the only one who's heard."

"What?" They both rise to attention. Chris positions his hands at his hips, looking down and wishing he didn't have to do this.

"It…made more sense after I heard about you from Allison. I just…there are hunters. They might—they might be coming." And he braces himself for some sort of beating or interrogation, but none come. He looks up and sees Derek looking like he must have when he came home from school to find his home burned down. Stiles has closed his eyes. "I don't know them very well, but this kind of thing you guys have…it's not really…_accepted_. I only have so much say in their conduct. They have to act by the code, and I've demanded they answer to me about it, but…if you so much as take one step out of line—"

"_Out of line?_" Derek roars.

"_Derek_," Stiles snaps, hopping down from the counter and squaring his shoulders.

Chris gestures sweepingly in Stiles' direction. "This _is_ out of line to them! Do you even realize how close to impossible it was to convince them that Stiles is still an innocent, uninvolved _teenager_? He's _pregnant_, Derek! With _your kid_! They want to _hurt_ him!"

It resonates through the kitchen. Derek is still for a minute, then he reaches out and yanks Stiles close to him. The boy follows hesitantly, corpselike in the desperate embrace around him. "I won't let them hurt you," Derek mumbles to him, and even from where Chris is standing he can see a shudder going through the man, can almost hear the weeping.

And it resonates sadness.

* * *

Chris leaves on that note. Derek hasn't moved since then, and Stiles has worked his arms up to rest around Derek's waist, at least to be comforting. He asks, after awhile, about how Derek arrived so promptly after Chris, and relishes in the fact that maybe he is as important to Derek as he's supposed to feel.

"I'm sorry," are the first words Derek grumbles when he lets go, and he passes Stiles up for the stairs, climbing them two at a time. Stiles follows, the trail ending at the edge of his bed with Derek's head in his hands.

For some reason, the guilt falls to him, if only because nothing has ever seemed to go right for Derek. "I'm sorry," he says again, looking up just enough to make eye contact with the wall trim behind Stiles' ankles. "I didn't mean to put you in _this_. If you don't want to see the child or…or me after it's all done, I understand."

Stiles can tell that he doesn't really, but the gesture is worth appreciation, so he takes a seat beside Derek and takes on hand in his. "I'm sorry, too," he mumbles and stares at the same trim Derek is fixed on. "Maybe things will get better," he mumbles, allowing Derek to rest his head in the haven of his neck.

* * *

Scott is the first to notice that Stiles and Derek are talking again. Mostly because looking over his shoulder at the slightest scent of the Alpha and often finding nothing seems to be an effective form of operant conditioning. "Is that you?" he's asked at least twice a day for the past week.

For a week, Stiles has refrained from responding. Scott takes it as his answer and smiles every single time. Stiles knows that his friend can smell that they're not yet back to being intimate, but he's caught wind of several members of their troop holding bets behind his back.

The saddest thing is that Scott doesn't know about the hunters. Thinking about telling him is like being hit by a train, so Stiles has been putting it off for awhile now, but he picks his friend up after work because they have to talk about it at some point. Stiles knows that Derek has kept it from the rest of the pack. He means to visit Chris this Friday, when Allison will be with Lydia.

"What?"

Stiles just puts another bite in his apple and stares up at the ceiling.

"Dude, we've been sitting here in silence for ten minutes. What's up?"

"Scott," he says around the apple in his cheek, "it's really important. Give me a minute." He swallows. The thickness of it stays in his throat, even after the bite has disappeared down into his stomach, and he swallows again, trying to get the fear to subside. "There are hunters coming. Because of me."

Scott doesn't say anything, but he looks physically hurt by the news. By the time he manages to come up with anything intelligible, all that comes out is a strained, "_What_?"

"Yeah. Allison's dad came over the other day and told us."

"_Us?_"

"Derek was there."

A slight pause. "Is _that_ why you two are all friendly again?"

Stiles huffs out a breath. "Yes, but that's not the point. We kind of have to be a team about this, whether we want to or not. By the way, he's coming over tonight, so."

Scott smiles. Most of the hurt in the room disappears. "Are you guys gonna…"

The happiness wells up in him and he fights to keep a straight face as the sarcasm comes out. "What, Scott? Am I gonna do? Have you forgotten I'm already pregnant? What am I gonna do?"

Scott laughs. Stiles follows, with only a slight taste of hesitation on his tongue.

* * *

Derek does come that night. Stiles hadn't been certain when he told Scott about it, because they didn't fight last night, but they didn't make up, either.

"Being married is harder than I thought," is easier on his tongue in lieu of greeting the man climbing into bed beside him. Derek responds with a kiss while Stiles winds his arms around the broadest shoulders in his life. Derek pushes a hand up under his shirt, pushes the other into the waistband of his pants.

Somewhat like drowning, the kiss fades from frantic to resigned, surreal. It's the first time they've kissed like this since their last talk about the child. Stiles wonders briefly if this is what family feels like: something he could get used to. Something to do in front of the fire, something to do on the back porch when they fix the Hale place up.

Because if Stiles is the Mama Wolf, this place is _going_ to get fixed up.

The hand in his pants becomes mischievous and grips him without warning. He grunts and ruts up against it immediately, proving that he has got no small fraction of instinct left in him. Derek leaves teeth marks in his shoulder; pulls back a little and lets the fangs slide along his skin. Stiles gasps and clenches his fist in Derek's hair.

Rolls them over with the weight of his hips and plants his hands into the mattress. The long, lean trunks of his arms ripple like chiseled bark up to his shoulders, which pull up to his jaw like he has tricks up his sleeve. Derek looks somewhere between amused and bemused beneath him, or perhaps enlightened. The next kiss they share is probably the best Stiles has ever had in his life.

When Derek pulls the lube and condom out of the drawer, Stiles smiles and pushes the lube into his partner's hand. Proceeds to pull Derek's zipper down with his teeth (quip ringing in his ears, _that mouth of your does have more than one use_) and doesn't even bother teasing the man beneath him.

He just rises up to a position over Derek, sheds himself of his own clothing and takes the lube from a very limp, noncommittal grip. Fingers himself into near oblivion and almost forgets that he's only preparing himself.

The first push of Derek into his body is what he needs right now. Easily distracted but determined; he takes a minute to settle down, build a home perched atop Derek's hips and find his center. His balance, even. Rises with all the strength in his thighs, relishes in the look of pain it puts on Derek's face, and sits back down with the furious intent of a good fuck.

Stiles _is_ a good fuck. Derek takes a sharp hold of his hips and builds a rhythm but he breaks it. Builds it again against the hard press of Derek up against him, inside him, lighting fires with every stroke. His mouth hangs open but silently; he doesn't have air for anything but breathing. He doesn't have any words left at all. His toes curl, fingers curl around Derek's biceps. He holds himself up on them and for a moment, feels suspended.

Derek throws his head back. Deep, guttural noises resonate in his throat. Stiles feels his stomach light up to the sound of their intimacy. Light shows flicker behind his eyelids to the same tune; he is no longer moving but just allowing himself to be fucked up into, letting himself be an instrument of pleasure.

It's something Derek tends to do often when Stiles rides him. It lights him up. He can't even keep his head up, he's too turned on. He feels it approaching in the same way as always. Derek fails to relent on the spot (oh, fuck, Derek, _that_ spot), and Stiles works himself in his hand, defiantly in spite of the rhythm Derek has set. His orgasm is too far away so he speeds up, and Derek, in turn, slows down.

"No, fuck, please, need it," he gasps, all in one breath, and it satiates the wolf's need for submission (Stiles theorizes). His back bows out, his shoulders fold and he comes, tensed from his intercostals to his obliques. He rides out it, entire body shuddering with the sugared heat of it, the weight it seizes from his body, the pleasure wracking him bone by bone, before he slumps and lets what will be done to his body be done.

Disregards the slight pulse of Derek's cock as he comes, stock still inside him. Fails to sense the come shooting against the condom once again, but he does feel a slight contraction of the flesh before the intrusion retreats from his body. He immediately falls to his side, head pillowed on Derek's shoulder.

"Every problem in the world could be fixed by some really good sex, if only people didn't get too mad to have it." Derek seems to consider this sage knowledge before rising and discarding the condom. He lays back down against the bed and pulls Stiles close to him.

"I don't know what you want to do after you have the baby, but I feel like I could stay like this forever."

Stiles feels as though he's been punched in the gut. He closes his eyes, silent, and falls asleep without remembering it when he wakes up, and he wakes up alone. When Derek picks him up after school, it appears that nothing was said at all. He finds himself not an hour later in Derek's lap, a chemistry textbook in his own. The slick black ink of the words glitter in the mid-afternoon sunlight.

"I think I could stay like this forever, too."


	5. Golden Soul

Stiles wakes to Derek moving sleepily against his back. He must've stayed the night. _Oh god_, is his first thought, which quiets into the second, which is _four-fucking-thirty? Sure_. His instinct naturally is to roll over, find a more comfortable sleeping position, and go back to sleep. But there are fallacies in that plan of action now. Beyond the fact that he can't move with Derek's monster arm chaining him down, he finds himself inexplicably comfortable, more so than he's ever been before.

Stealth isn't quite a motivator here because he woke up and has yet to even move, but he realizes Derek is awake just as he closes his eyes. It's sort of a sense of knowing the guy that tells him that that breathing pattern is not the same as the one he keeps when he's sleeping.

"Derek?"

"Yeah?" His voice is hoarse and tight, caught somewhere between just waking up and just waking up from a nightmare. Stiles props himself up onto one elbow so he can turn and look Derek in the eye.

"What is it?"

Derek considers this question for a long moment before shrugging it away. "Nothing." He buries his face in the back of Stiles' neck, taking a deep, shuddering inhale. Closes his arms tighter around him. Squeezes. "Just a bad dream."

Stiles worms his way out of the grip in order to face Derek completely. With a heavy bout of hesitation, he raises his hand to the side of Derek's face. It's not something he would normally do, but it feels like something Derek needs. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Stiles snorts. "Yes you do. Just tell me real quick so you can get it out."

Before Derek says anything (and he's slow even to move, wide eyes dragging over Stiles' every feature before) he pulls Stiles in close, tucking the boy's head under his chin and cradling him against his body. "I dreamt that I lost you." He swallows heavily. "There was fire."

_Oh_. Shit.

Stiles sighs, pulls himself out of the embrace and forcefully rolls Derek onto his back. Climbs on top of him and settles into using his pecs as a pillow when Derek stops squirming. "You're not gonna lose me," he begins slowly, not knowing whether this sounds too much like a promise or not. "You said so yourself."

Derek's arms wind their way around Stiles' waist once more. "I know."

* * *

Stiles aims for a time when he knows that Allison is staying the night at Lydia's. He's not sure if she knows about the hunters, but even so, he feels out of place at their door, heartbeat growing heavier with every resounding step carrying Mr. Argent closer to answering the door.

"Stiles. Come in." He steps back, offering the foyer to Stiles who barely manages to step over the threshold and out of the way of the door as it swings shut. "I only have a few short correspondences with some of the hunters coming. Allison and I have agreed to refrain from hunting, but for appearances' sake, these hunters can't know that. Still, she doesn't have to be a part of this. I'd appreciate you not mentioning it to her."

Stiles nods weakly. Chris pushes a folder over to him.

"It has the emails, transcripts of phone calls and information from the hunters I'm aware of."

"What do you think the chances are?"

"For?"

Stiles shrugs. "For getting through this okay."

Chris sits quietly at the island beside Stiles and wishes that this wasn't the way the world worked. Everything in him wants to be a father to this kid, the kind of father who already knows about werewolves and mating and can give him the proper support through the whole ordeal. It should be as simple as it can get, and it's not simple at all.

"I think that if you and Derek lay low and keep yourselves out of sight, you should be fine." Chris pauses, wondering if he's about to cross a line. "How far along are you?"

Stiles looks up, mildly surprised, but smiles in the end. "Ten weeks or so. I'm going to see Deaton after this for a more extensive exam. Said he got ahold of some real people medical equipment. I guess I'm finally gonna get to see the kid."

Chris genuinely smiles and congratulates Stiles. He pauses before his next question, but barrels into it headfirst. "How's Derek?" And the way Stiles looks at him afterwords makes it clear that the quieter _how are you and Derek_ was well-interpreted.

"Better now. It's just…been rough. Especially the first few weeks after we found out, and now this." He trails off, shrugging, and pulls his phone out to check the time. Chris takes that as his cue to escort Stiles to the door.

"Stop by if you ever need anything. I'm going to try to keep the hunters at bay, but you two really need to keep quiet about all of this."

Stiles nods, thanks him and trots off to his jeep. Chris waits until the vehicle is out of his site to return back into his empty house.

* * *

The examination table is cold, and not just cold, but cold. Colder than it looks. Even through jeans and a hoodie. Stiles wants to jump off and curl himself in the safety blanket in the far corner of the room. The chill permeates his very bones, making the tension somehow thicker. The suffocating coldness chokes out his voice and when he wants to ask for something to lay on that's not metal and frigid, he just swallows it down like the of the thickness in the room.

Melissa and Derek to the side of the table are unhelpful in calming the general density of this moment while Deaton carts in the ultrasound machine. Scott just stands silently, seeming somewhat humiliated by having his mother and the alpha who knocked up his best friend in the same room. He keeps crossing an uncrossing his arms, the repetitiveness starting to become an annoying sound that wears a hole in Stiles' patience. He huffs out a deep breath, trying to warm himself with the best of his own sputtering heart.

He startles almost to the point of falling off the table when Derek settles a hand down on his shoulders. He looks up and sees nothing of the alpha he knows there. Derek is all tenderness and warmth and first time father and it almost leaves a taste on his tongue, it's so strong. He glances around and can tell that he's not the only one who's noticed. Looking back up at Derek, he feels something unexpected enough to shock stupidity into his expression

Proud. He feels proud of Derek. He doesn't know why he shouldn't be, but he's not sure he's ever felt this before.

He lays his hand over Derek's and closes his eyes. Deaton squirts the jelly onto his stomach and makes the experience that much more unpleasant. The probe is smooth and quiet in moving across his stomach, quiet enough to silence the whole room around him. He can hear the ticking of a clock from the front room. Each resounding second comes slower.

Somewhere beyond his drawn eyelids, Melissa gasps. Only then does he realize the lack of blood flow his arm is receiving. Derek's grip on his shoulder almost hurts and is more difficult to shake off than he realized it would be.

He doesn't fully understand what he sees when he opens his eyes. The screen is blurry and dark, and Stiles is decidedly unused to reading ultrasounds. The longer he stares at it, the clearer it becomes, and excuse after ludicrous excuse is shot down like rapid-fire in the flickering chaos of logic huffing around his mind.

"Triplets?" The whole room is silent, but in the silence there is no longer hollow chill but perhaps a tail-wagging compassion Stiles is wholly unprepared for. "That's triplets—there's three things on that screen, I'm…" His voice breaks under the weight of emotion. "I'm having a litter."

"Stiles," Derek utters, choked and humble. He crouches down beside the table, pushing his nose into Stiles' cheek. "God, _Stiles_. Triplets."

"I know." He can't take his eyes off the screen but determinedly, blindly, his fingers find Derek's face and he holds it against him, keeping him close. Hell's belles and crows and bones, this is the closest he's ever felt to Derek in his whole experience knowing the guy. He closes his eyes again and feels even closer.

Melissa is murmuring excitedly with Deaton about what this means. Stiles doesn't need super wolf hearing to know that. Derek is crying, he can feel it on his cheek. Scott is quiet where he stands off to the side. When Stiles looks over at him, he's chewing his lip. It's a very Scott-sort of thing to do. Stiles clears his throat and catches his friend's attention, looking for approval and finding himself unable to interpret what he sees instead.

"I expect you to godfather at least one of these children."

It's a tense moment and Stiles feels like he just made a joke at a funeral. He almost wants to hit Scott when that genuine grin breaks across his face. "Stiles, I swear to god, if I'm not the godfather of all of your children, we're not best friends anymore."

* * *

Stiles starts showing in a very noncommittal way. Derek usually has his hands on him. With a brittle flurry of defiance, he sometimes tries to fight the way his shirt will be pushed up just enough to slowly slide back down around the small bump of his stomach. Derek will take it in his hands, burrow his face into Stiles' neck and seem happy for awhile.

Sometimes Stiles lets it go without a fight. These are supposed to be happy times.


	6. Goldencents

Coach Finstock's "Geez, Stilinski, trying to go up a weight class?" is not the beginning of Stiles' self esteem roller coaster, but it does make for a bad afternoon when he goes to the Hale house and Derek tries to hold him. Stiles pushes him away with an unabashed certainty and sinks down on the couch, busying himself with something in his backpack so he won't feel responsible for the dejected look on Derek's face.

Which isn't so much dejected when he looks up at it as it is lost and helpless. He freezes in what he's doing, mouth falling open. He's about to ask what's going on when Derek tells him.

"They're taking the house, Stiles. I have to leave."

For a moment, he can't believe it. For a moment, he's silent. Only for a moment.

"_What_? They can't do that! It's not their property! Who's _they_? This isn't fair, and it's not right, and—"

"Stiles." Derek settles onto the couch beside him. "They think I'm gone. The house is empty. Rotting. What did you think they were going to do?"

"Derek…"

"I'm thinking about getting a flat." He sends a sidelong glance at Stiles. "You could come stay whenever you want."

"You…_want_ me to stay with you." Stiles smiles a little bit, but it's still weighed down. "Yeah. Okay. But it'll be a lot easier during the summer." He puts his backpack down and stares down at his stomach. By the summer, he'll be bloated like a whale.

Derek lays a hand right in his line of view, cradling him over the wrinkles of his t-shirt. When he looks up, Derek is fixated on his stomach, too. Something in him looks like he might have looked at his mother when she was pregnant with another one of his siblings. Maybe that doesn't make sense. Stiles can just see the need for family in Derek's face.

"But weekends and stuff should work just fine."

* * *

Weekends and stuff entailing Thursday nights through Monday mornings. The Sheriff doesn't always approve, but with Melissa covering for Stiles, he's garnered as much support as he can truly hope for. Derek's flat is nice, if not a little bit bare. The brick walls feel cozy instead of cold. There's no rotting wood. It smells rusty in a rusty old Scotch drinker sort of way. Cozy.

They share kisses in a bed with no frame. Stiles grows used to this. He's been waiting to be let down again, but it hasn't come yet. The pain from those first few weeks after losing his virginity still resonates. He's held on to the fear that the longer he waits the harder he'll hit the ground. He has everything to lose. It never once occurred to him that so does Derek. He takes the man's hands and rests them on either side of his belly, smiling and even laughing a little when Derek sucks in a breath and closes his eyes, like he's trying to stop time to stay in this moment forever.

The slight pressure of Derek's thumbs rubbing small circles into his waist soothes sleep into his mind. He yawns obscenely, tonsils glistening in plain view and ugly public school lunch breath wafting out right into Derek's face, but when he closes his mouth and looks at him, Derek doesn't look any less bothered than if Stiles had pressed a kiss to his nose (which he promptly does as positive reinforcement).

"So am I just that much easier to bear when I'm carrying your kids?"

Derek's face falls and Stiles gets that sinking feeling he gets whenever he realizes he's said something wrong. But Derek doesn't snap at him or pull away, which he considers in that moment to be progress. "You were never intolerable, Stiles. I mean sometimes, a little bit too much. I just…I always tried not to get to close because I…"

"Didn't want this to happen," he finishes, a little bit less bitter than he expected.

Derek has the grace to appear guilty, and for that, Stiles forgives him. He didn't want this either. Not at first. But he can't do this alone. He needs Derek and…maybe it's okay to also _want_ to need him. But he doesn't know how to say this tastefully and doesn't know whether or not it even needs to be said at all, so he winds his arms around Derek's shoulders and just holds him.

* * *

Stiles' pregnancy is tiring for few others than himself. He sleeps a lot. Eats as much as Derek, Melissa and Scott can get him to before taking to the bed. Usually throws it back up in a matter of hours; lather, rinse, repeat.

The best part is that it's the only thing Derek and Stiles fight about anymore. Scott mentions it offhandedly to his mother when he drops dinner off one evening, smiling as he says it. They haven't fought about anything other than Stiles' wellbeing recently. They seem, well, _happy_.

Melissa just smiles uncertainly, like she's boundlessly proud but unsure about the social acceptability of rejoicing about anything involving her teenage son's best friend's pregnancy. But she does manage a quiet, motherly word, "That's good. He shouldn't have to worry about anything but himself right now," before she returns to her desk and Scott leaves, probably to go settle with the happy couple for the night.

* * *

"I'm on his side," Scott hears Chris Argent explaining to Deaton when he arrives for work the next afternoon. Pulls his jacket off quietly and listens. Deaton is quiet, Chris continues. "I wouldn't be coming to you if it weren't for his good. Isn't there…I don't know, _anything_?"

"I don't know what you would want me to do against humans, Mr. Argent."

"I just…they're pretty much here, Alan. I don't have anything left to do but hope that they won't find anything of interest. I've talked to Derek and Stiles about laying low, but that's not always how things work out. I can't…I can't do this alone."

"I'll stop them," Scott growls, eyes flashing and fangs out in fury. His grip on his jacket is leaving claw holes next to the zipper. "If they go anywhere near him, I'll stop them."

Chris looks mildly surprised before steeling his expression and putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "Scott, these are family men. They have wives and children at home. Please. They have sons, and daughters just like I have Allison. I don't want Stiles to get hurt, but that doesn't mean I don't want them to go home to their families."

Scott glances at Deaton before turning his glare back onto Chris. "Fine," he breathes out heavily, forcing his shift back to human. "But I'm not going to stop at anything to protect Stiles." Chris nods, excusing himself and brushing past Scott's shoulder as he makes for the door. Scott turns his head and says, just loud enough, "And neither will Derek."

Chris falters, but nods without looking back. Exits swiftly. Scott turns back to Deaton, who is watching him with the most disappointed look Scott's ever seen on him. Everything in Scott's face opens up as his defensive case spills out, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Mouth open and loud, "They're threatening Stiles! They want to kill Derek just because he knocked up my best friend! I don't care if they have families, they can't just swoop in killing baby-daddies and terrorizing teenage mothers! I mean, if Stiles were here right now, would you really tell hi—"

"What I would tell him," Deaton interrupts, "is that everybody needs to stay calm." He gives Scott a very level stare for a moment of emphasis. "The more fuss we make over this, the more we try to push them back, the more we fight against them…the more _visible_ we make ourselves to them, the more they want to put us down. Especially Derek and Stiles. Everybody just needs to stay calm."

Sage wisdom left cooling in the air between them, Deaton returns to restocking thermometer covers and bandages. Scott drops his eyes contritely. Puts his things away and tries to let go of the bad feeling in his stomach as he fetches some boxes to help Deaton.

* * *

Stiles doesn't feel rested anymore. Most nights he dreams that the babies are kicking, though they may or may not have fully functional legs yet, and he has no idea what they even look like. He wakes up all the time feeling more tired than he did when he went to sleep. So when he almost punches Derek in the head for waking him up, he isn't immediately remorseful and doesn't immediately realize the overwhelming mood in the room.

Derek's face is buried in his stomach. Not entirely unusual, but Chris typically isn't standing in the living room, arms crossed over his chest with a livid-looking Scott by his side. He sits up, or more, fails to sit up when Derek scoots further up to hold him by his waist.

"What's going on?"

"They're here," Chris says before anyone can get the jump on him.

"Oh." Because he doesn't know what else to say. He doesn't want to sit up anymore. He just wants to roll over and go back to sleep and maybe never wake up. Closes his eyes and lets Derek squeeze him that much tighter.

"They're not about to come bashing down your door and shooting up the place," Chris continues mildly, "but we'd all advise a little more caution. Maybe…stay a little more out of sight than usual. Just…stay safe."

He nods his head absently. Chris clears his throat and it's suddenly painfully obvious how uncomfortable he is.

"And I won't be able to be in touch with you anymore. God knows what they'd do if they knew…if they knew the hunter in this town isn't…_hunting_ anymore."

Stiles didn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't this. Not that it would make any sense for Chris to keep seeing them, keeping them updated after the hunters arrived. Could put more lives in danger. But losing him feels like they're already losing a battle.

And Derek is there, whispering in his ear, reminding him that they only have five more months, and he will always be with Stiles, and when those five months are up their triplets will be born and the hunters will have left by then, just please, Stiles, please, stay with me, I will protect you. Everything will be alright.

_I will always protect you_.

* * *

In school Erica and Isaac absolutely preen over how _radiant_ he's looking these days, even under the layers hiding his new body. Finstock tries to make another easy jab in economics.

Boyd either consciously makes a low growling noise until the comment dies from Coach's lips, or he can't stop himself. Either way, Stiles reaches out to squeeze his arm in thanks. Even if they're just protecting him from the errant, unthoughtful comment of a bad teacher, he's never felt safer in his pack.


	7. Will Take Charge

By the time exams roll around, Stiles is drowning himself in large hoodies and baggy sweats in some unpromising attempt at hiding. He's not sure what sort of victory to take it as when everyone just assumes he got fat. He thinks he'd probably wouldn't take it so hard if he were further along.

Not that he's ever found himself to be a particularly attractive guy. Average at best, not as bad as Greenberg, nothing like Jackson Whittemore. Always somewhere in the middle.

Most of Stiles' life has been cast somewhere in the middle.

* * *

"How're you feeling?"

"Weird," he mumbles.

Derek's arm tightens around his swollen stomach. The five months is heavy within him, weighing down every step he takes. He can feel the shifting of limbs as Derek squeezes him, watching with a furrow brow. "Weird like how?"

"I don't know, Derek, weird like I'm a teenage boy who got knocked up by a werewolf while losing his virginity," he snaps, and it's credit to Derek's name that the grip surrounding him doesn't retreat, only softens.

"Stiles," Derek starts, his voice low and serious in the way that it always is, but somehow better, "I'm happy that this happened." The quiet _I'm happy to be here with you_ is equally appreciated, so Stiles buries his face into Derek's neck and breathes in deeply, letting the breath calm him.

* * *

The first hunter Stiles notices is too obvious. He's young, maybe a couple years older than him and Scott, with a shock of bright red hair topping a pair of mean, blue eyes. Thick, fall jacket. He looks like he stepped out of one of those _Man Things_ shows, hands in his pockets like the world should fear him. Stiles is just going back to his dad's house to pick some things up for the week.

"Lost?" he asks, because let it never be said that Stiles is adverse to confrontation.

The guy smiles, stepping forward a couple of stupid-looking, threatening steps. Stiles can't decide whether he's camp or thriller yet. "Just checking out around town."

Stiles nods, letting the motion fade with his interest before climbing up the rest of the driveway to the front door. Maybe it's not a hunter, just some creep looking to terrorize fat high schoolers. But something about him sets Stiles off.

So he takes the stairs two at a time and scrambles to the nearest window, immediately locking gazes with the guy, now leaning against the hood of his Jeep.

_Fuck_.

It's broad daylight, but Stiles doesn't consider it a bright idea to ask any of his werewolf friends to escort him back to safety with this kid hanging around, so he calls Lydia. She's there before he's even found a decent suitcase, snarking the hunter out of the driveway with a million-dollar smile all the while. He breathes relief and almost hugs her when she gets through the front door.

"Lydia, I knew I loved you for a reason."

* * *

"Are you even sure he's a hunter?" Derek's hands are over his eyes, trying to eliminate the threat by deciding it can't be one. They're not in a position to deal with this right now. Scott is there, PSAT book in hand, and so is Lydia, with her arms crossed over her breast impatiently.

"Even if he's not," she begins slowly, insulting in tone, "are you willing to risk Stiles' wellbeing with this? Isn't it better to assume the worst right now?"

"Stiles doesn't _need_ to be assuming _anything_ right now," Derek growls, throwing his arms down to reveal the tired glare behind them. "He needs to be _resting_ and not _worrying_."

"What about _you_, Derek?"

Stiles shrinks against the head of the bed, knees drawn up as far as he can bring them. Scott smiles and leans over. "This is a rather _circuitous_ situation, isn't it?"

Stiles snorts, shaking his head. "Try again."

Scott bites his lip, still smiling and sort of elbowing Stiles in the side to get him to sit up. "Lydia is being," he flips through the pages in his booklet briefly, "_obtuse_. Wait, no…"

Stiles can't stop himself from laughing a little bit, attracting the attention of the squabbling couple on the far side. Lydia looks sorely unimpressed but Derek has picked up a little in his expression and his posture, rejuvenated a bit.

"The least we can do is worry about it on our own," he finishes squarely. "Let Stiles be until absolutely necessary."

Shriveling slightly, Stiles accepts that he won't have a say in the handling of his own care. He can't bring himself to be grateful, but he is alive, so maybe it balances out. Scott throws an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him reassuringly.

"So as the Godfather, am I raising the kid in Catholicism, Hinduism, Pastafarianism…?"

Stiles grins. It'll all balance out.

* * *

"I'm fine, dad. They're doing fine, too. Yeah, we mostly hang out and… No, she's usually gone during the day. Of course not, have you ever tried playing video games drunk? It's hard enough to… Yes, sir. I know. I will. Okay. Bye, dad."

He sniffs a little, scrubbing his hand down his face. Derek smooths a hand over his engorged stomach. Stiles pushes it away.

Derek has gotten good at putting up with things like this. He doesn't ask, but Stiles suspects he knows about the insecurities. They used to be intimate at nights when Stiles could stay. He hasn't let Derek see him like that for awhile now.

He's never had stretch marks before. They're ugly whenever he pulls his shirt up, examining himself in the bathroom mirror. Runs his fingers over them, expecting them to just be horrible, faded crayon marks in his skin. His face twists with despair when he feels them raised and jagged across his stomach, the fault lines devastating his body.

He does this increasingly often. It's his way of dealing with the humiliation that has become his body; by wallowing in it, facing it every day and letting it conquer him quietly at little more each time. He usually gets away with it.

Without warning, the bathroom door opens. Stiles tries to shove his shirt back down over himself but it's hard; it catches on his belly and that first ugly sob breaks free from his throat.

"What is it?" Derek reaches for him. "What's wrong?" Stiles bats his hands away, trying to herd him back through the door.

"No," he says, sniffling. "Sorry. Nothing. Just. Go away, please?"

"Stiles, are you…?" Derek's eyes narrow in his cautious assessment.

Stiles scrubs the back of his hand across his cheek. "No, Derek. I'm fucking giggling with glee over everything. _Yes_, I'm fucking," he pauses, hiccuping out a small sob and flicking tears from his hand, "I'm fucking crying."

"Why?"

It's been building up for so long now, but Stiles finds himself genuinely surprised when he screams at Derek. "_Look at me. _You think I _wanted_ this?_ I'm going to be a senior_, Derek. This is the _last _thing I needed, and _now look at me_."

Derek turns his eyes away, jaw set. His arms flex, shoulders roll a little bit, a little like looking for a fight. "Stiles," he grunts hoarsely. "I'm sorry, I just…" He looks up and Stiles is rubbing his stomach nervously, feeling out the stretch marks. Counting them, hating himself in exponential figures.

"Stiles, is this about…about this?" And Derek punctuates the question by resting his hand on the ledge of Stiles' stomach. They know each other well enough that Stiles knows Derek isn't talking about the children within. Stiles doesn't have it in him to answer; he's never been more ashamed of himself than he is right now. "Stiles," and Derek pulls him close, as close as they can get. Stiles fights it at first, but he's not in a good enough state to resist for long.

"You're beautiful like this. I haven't…I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you now, the way you look like this," Derek murmurs into his hair. Stiles huffs out a sluggish laugh and shakes his head, but it makes him feel better and he hopes Derek can hear it in his heartbeat or another one of those weird werewolf things he wishes he was used to by now.

"And above all else, I think you should eat something. You're grumpier than I am."

Stiles pulls back and balks. "Oh my god, Derek, was that…did you just make a joke?"

Derek smiles, and when Stiles pulls him down by the shirt collar to kiss him, maybe he does feel thirty pounds more beautiful.

* * *

A/N: hi all; I got a job; I didn't get into the nursing program therefore I've been doing some summer homework so I can put up a bigger fight this year; I've been spending more time with my family; and frankly, I've been neglecting this story. thank you to everyone who's waited and who's reading this after this unannounced hiatus. hope you enjoy.


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